


The Power of Denial

by miloowen



Series: The Post-A Million Sherds Universe [12]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Angst, Family, Forgiveness, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 18:36:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4635945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miloowen/pseuds/miloowen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sequel to The Bright Unbroken Planet.  Some things can only be endured.</p>
<p>The title is from the poem "Arrows," by Tony Hoagland.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Power of Denial

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissMelysse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMelysse/gifts).



> I kept wondering what happened, when Will and Picard returned to their quarters. How does one get through the first night?
> 
> Arrows, by Tony Hoagland
> 
> In the famous painting, the saint  
> looks steadfastly heavenward,  
> away from the physical indignity below,
> 
> the fascinating spectacle  
> of his own body  
> bristling with arrows;  
> he looks up  
> as if he were already adamantly elsewhere,  
> exerting that power of denial  
> the soul is famous for,  
> that ability to say, "None of this is real:
> 
> Nothing that happened here on earth  
> and who I thought I was,  
> and nothing that I did or that was done to me,  
> was ever real."

           Will had replicated a simple meal of soup and bread for their supper, and Picard watched with growing dismay as Will stirred his soup with his spoon. It had been a move common to him during his illness, pretending to eat by moving his utensil around. It hadn’t fooled anyone at the time, not even Worf; it didn’t fool Picard now. Sascha didn’t seem to notice, chatting away about school and his story and receiving his prize in his comically-deep voice; he ate cheerfully, dunking his bread in his soup, slurping his juice. Rose was in her chair and Will had given her a small bowl of pastina to eat. Picard, trying not to worry about Will, found himself smiling at Rose’s determination to pick up handfuls of slippery pastina and shovel it into her mouth. Sascha at that age had been attempting to eat everything with a spoon; more often than not, Rose jettisoned her spoon on the floor. It was amazing to Picard – who had never had younger siblings or younger cousins – that personality could be demonstrated so early, and in the smallest of things.

            When it appeared Rose had finished with the mess she’d created, Picard lifted her from the chair, and wiped her face and hands while she fussed at him and squirmed. “I’ll give her her bath, Will, if you like,” Picard said, jiggling her gently on his knee.

            “You said you’d play with me,” Sascha reminded him.

            Picard glanced at Will, who was silent. “Let’s just get Rose cleaned up first,” he said to Sascha. “She has half her supper in her hair.”

            Sascha giggled. “Okay,” he agreed.

            “You should take a bath, too, son,” Will said. “And get into your pyjamas, and then we’ll play with you, as Papi promised.” He stood up, his soup bowl in his hands. “D’jali will be here in a few minutes, to help out. He’s been staying in the evenings.”

            “Do we need him tonight, Guy?” Picard asked. Will was cleaning up, even though he hadn’t eaten anything. Obviously Will had relied on the crew to help with two young children in Picard’s absence. He remembered Worf’s struggles to be a single father to Alexander, even as Alexander had been older than both Sascha and Rose.

            Will finished placing the dishes in the receptacle. “No,” he answered, “I suppose not. He’d probably enjoy an evening off.”

            Picard stood, the baby still in his arms. “Who’s been helping you in the morning?” Even though Will was not, and had never been, a morning person, as captain he had alpha shift on the bridge, with beta shift on-call.

            Will shrugged. “I’ve been reporting late,” he said, “and we’ve cobbled things together. Deanna. Chris, sometimes. I take Rose to the crèche and Sascha to school.”

            “I’ll do that tomorrow, if you like,” Picard offered. “Perhaps you could take the day off. Get some sleep.”

            Will’s face was closed. “I have a ship to run,” he said.

 

 

            Before he’d left for the latest trade negotiations, he’d struggled with bath time, leaving it mostly up to Will and the succession of crew they’d had to help. He was thirty years older than Will, nearing eighty, and while he kept himself in shape it was still hard, kneeling on the floor of the head. His knees and hands ached, sometimes. Today, placing the baby in the holder so she wouldn’t slip, helping Sascha undress and slipping him into the tub, he forgot all about his age and the momentary twinge in his knee as he bent over the tub. There was an assortment of starships and sailing ships and sea creatures floating in the warm water; Rose splashed her arms and legs and then screeched happily when she managed to get both her father and her brother. Sascha motored the assorted ships through tiny waves as Picard soaped and washed Rose, who was so entranced by her brother’s busyness that she didn’t even shriek when he washed her hair. He lifted her from the tub and wrapped her in a hooded towel.

            “Wash yourself now, Sascha,” he said. “The water’s getting cold.”

            “Yes, sir,” Sascha answered, still playing.

            Picard finished drying Rose and then dressed her in footed pyjamas. The temperature onboard always seemed cooler at night, even though it was actually constant; Rose was a creeper in her crib and rarely had a blanket on her in the morning.

            “Alexandré,” Picard said.

            Sascha looked up and then he said, “Sir.” He picked up the rag.

            “Do you want me to wash your hair?”

            “Daddy lets me do it,” Sascha said.

            Picard rather doubted that, but he said, “Make sure you’re clean, then, and that you rinse yourself off.”

            “Yes, Papi.”

            Cheekiness seemed to be part of the Riker gene pool, and Picard bent down and kissed Sascha’s wet hair.

 

 

            Will was on the sofa, working on his padd. Picard sat down next to him, and placed Rose on the blanket on the deck. He wished that Will had joined him in the head, but it seemed, by Will’s silence, that he was being punished. He could hardly complain; he deserved it. He watched the baby grab a toy and mouth it; he heard Sascha singing to himself in his odd little voice in the head as he dressed. How could he have done this thing? He glanced at Will.

            “The ship is all right?” he asked.

            Will didn’t look up. “Yes,” he answered.

            “Rose’s teeth don’t seem to be bothering her tonight.”

            “No. Wait until it’s 0300,” Will said. “That’s when they bother her.”

            “Ah.” He didn’t know if he should say anything else. Will had been angry but kind on the observation deck. Now he just seemed angry. “Did you tell D’jali not to come tonight?”

            Will shut his padd down. “Yes,” he answered, as Sascha came in, carrying his miniature 3D chess set.

            “You said you’d play with me,” he announced, setting the board down on the table.

            “Of course we did,” Picard replied. “But chess is for only two people, _cheri_.” He regretted it as soon as he’d said it, because Sascha’s lip quivered. He’d only been gone three weeks. Had he forgotten everything?

            Will said, “It’s all right, Sascha. We’ll play in teams. You and Papi on one team, and Rosie and me on the other.”

            Picard wanted to take Will in his arms, wanted to hold him and promise him that he would never hurt him again, but instead he said, “That’s a fine idea, isn’t it, Sascha? You told me you wanted Rose to play, too.”

            “We go first,” Sascha said.

            Will bent down and picked Rose up and held her on his lap. She began gnawing on his arm. “Not too long now,” Will said. “We all have work and school tomorrow.”

            Picard watched Sascha play with calm deliberation, and wondered what the hell had happened in his absence. When he’d left, the child was a typical four-year-old; this child seemed older, somehow. Halfway through the game Rose started to fuss.

            “You tired, sweetie?” Will asked her. “Say good night to Rosie, Sascha,” he said, carrying Rose over to the replicator as if Picard weren’t right there, sitting on the edge of the sofa, occasionally helping Sascha with his moves. Will ordered a bottle for Rose and gave it to her, disappearing into the children’s bedroom.

            “ _Bon nuit_ , Rose,” Sascha called. “I won,” he told Picard.

            Picard smiled, and pulled Sascha close, pressing him to his tunic and smoothing his still-damp hair. “You did indeed,” he agreed. “When did you become such a prodigy at chess?”

            Sascha shrugged, a mirror image of Picard. “We play at school,” he answered. Then he said, “What’s a progidy?”

            Picard lifted his son and carried him to the bedroom. “You are,” Picard said.

            Will was humming to Rose, still in his arms. “Bed now.”

            “Yes, sir.” Sascha climbed into his bed, and Picard tucked him in. “Read me a story?”

            Rose was asleep, and Will placed her gently in the crib. “It’s late,” he said. “You’ve school tomorrow. Just go to sleep now.”

            Picard thought that the tension in the room would see the child dissolve into tears, but it appeared their son was made of sterner stuff. Picard watched him as he decided which course of action to take, crying and waking Rose, or something else; he wasn’t sure he knew who this child was, anymore.

            “Two stories tomorrow,” Sascha said, and Picard wished he could laugh. How many negotiations like this one had he had with a certain first officer? _You can go down on the away team this time_ , Picard thought, _but not the next two_.

            “Two stories tomorrow,” Will agreed. “Good night, Sascha.”

            “Night, Daddy. _Bon nuit_ , Papi.”

            “ _Bon nuit, mon cher_ ,” Picard said, pulling the door halfway closed.

 

 

            He stood in the dayroom, uselessly, watching Will tidy up. He suppressed a sigh, and then he walked to the replicator. When all else fails, he thought, have a cup of tea.

            “Earl Grey, hot,” he said. “Will? A cup of coffee?”

            Will stopped what he was doing, which was, Picard realised, almost manic in an effort not to put voice to the elephant which had more than likely taken up a permanent residence in their dayroom. “You’re bribing me with coffee?” There was a ghost of smile playing about his lips, but Picard resisted the urge to cross the room and bend Will’s head down to his. “What the hell,” Picard said. “You’re not sleeping anyway.”

            Will surprised him, as he always did; he laughed and said, “Sure. I’ll take a cup of coffee.” He paused and then he added, “Real coffee, Jean-Luc.”

            “I know, Guy,” Picard answered. “Coffee, dark roast, hot, three creams,” he told the replicator. He took the mug and walked it over to Will. Will took the mug, but Picard didn’t move away; he stood there, the heat of his own mug burning his hand, wanting to touch Will, to hold him; but that one moment of comfort on the observation deck now seemed so far away. Instead, he said, “Why don’t we just call it a night?”

            “I thought –“ Will hesitated. Then he shut down. “Never mind,” he said. “You go ahead. I’ve a few things to finish up.”

            Picard wondered if he would be allowed to feel angry too. Will was already walking away, the coffee mug in his hand. And then he thought, Will hasn’t done anything; this was all his own fault, not Will’s. Deflecting blame to Will so he could be angry with Will instead of being angry with himself – that was a child’s game.

            “Will.”

            Will had grabbed his padd and it appeared he was heading for his office. “Yeah?”

            “Don’t do this,” Picard said. “Please.”

            How, Picard wondered, had he walked away from this man? And why? He could no longer remember. It was almost as if it had been someone else who had done those things. And then he thought, adultery. You committed adultery.

            “You didn’t really think that between the observation deck and our quarters, I would somehow get over this, did you?” Will asked.

            “Of course not,” Picard said. “But I hoped we might talk – “

            “Okay,” Will replied, walking back into the dayroom. He put both his padd and the coffee mug on the table. “What was it like, Jean-Luc? Making love to a woman again? I’m curious, because it’s been a little over ten years since I have.”

            “Oh, Will.” Picard sat down, his face in his hands.

            “You see,” Will continued, and Picard could hear the undercurrent of anger – or was it scorn? – in Will’s voice, “I could understand, I think, if you’d been with a younger man. Younger than me, I mean. A kid. Since I’m no longer a kid. I could even, I guess, understand if you’d been with a much younger girl. But – she was my age, Jean-Luc. That’s what I don’t understand. If I’m not attractive to you anymore, because I’m losing my hair, and I’ve gained some weight – how could a woman my age be attractive to you?”

            “I don’t know,” Picard said. “I just don’t know.”

            “You don’t know how she was attractive to you?” Will was still standing, his voice now taking on a tone of disbelief. “I’m willing to wager I could describe her to you.”

            “William,” Picard said.

            “Did you think you were going to build a new life with her?”

            “No. I don’t believe I thought that.”

            Will said, “Did you think anything at all? Or was this just your dick, doing your thinking for you?”

            “Oh, Will,” Picard repeated.

            “Your dick,” Will said, bitterly, “no longer being attracted to me.”

            Picard looked up. Will complained about his thinning hair, but as he stood there Picard saw only the Will he’d always seen: tall, broad-shouldered, azure-coloured eyes, the generous mouth, the cleft in his chin, the longest eyelashes Picard had ever seen on any man….the musician’s hands. His dick was certainly no longer having a problem with Will, he thought.

            “William,” he said. “That’s not true.”

            “Then why, Jean-Luc?”

            Will’s voice broke, and Picard said, his eyes suddenly filling, “I don’t know, _mon cher_.”

            “I don’t know that I can live with that,” Will told him.

            “All right,” Picard said. “Do you want me to leave, then?”

            “You told Sascha you would take him to school.”

            “I can be here at 0600 hours and he won’t know,” Picard said.

            Will sat, as if the air had been sucked out of him. “We’d decided that you’d stay,” he said.

            “Yes,” Picard agreed.

            “I feel as if I were going to explode.”

            “Of course you do.”

            Will gave an ironic smile. “That’s normal, is it?” he asked.

            Picard said, “I love you, Guy. I can’t undo how I’ve hurt you. I wish I could. But you need to know that I love you.”

            “You have a funny way of showing it,” Will said.

            “I’m sorry.” There was nothing else he could say.

            Will was quiet, and then he said, “Shit. I know you are.”

            They sat, on opposite ends of the sofa, neither one of them touching their drinks. Picard, listening to only the sound of Will’s breathing and the thrum of the engines underneath his feet, worried that they’d wakened Sascha, who was lying on his bed in the dark, listening to his parents argue. Unbidden, a memory from when he was nine or ten came back to him; sitting on the tiled roof outside his bedroom window, the sounds of crickets and a nightjar and his mother’s strained voice, his father’s angry one. Was he reenacting his own childhood through Will? He’d assumed that his mother’s pain, his father’s anger, was over the loss of Christophe-Henri, the brother who had drowned at six in an irrigation ditch in their vineyards. What if it had been something else? And yet he couldn’t picture infidelity as something that might have occurred in his parents’ lives.

            “What was her name?”

            “Will.” He could barely breathe. Was this how Will had felt, during his illness? His chest constricted, the air flow gone? “Helen,” he said. “Her name was Helen.” Picard looked up, watched Will pick up his mug, not take a sip, and then place it back down. “But you already know that,” Picard said.

            “Yes. I just wanted to hear you say her name.”

            “I didn’t think you had it in you to be cruel,” Picard said.

            “I am my father’s son,” Will answered.

            Could your heart break, Picard wondered, if you were the one who was wrong? He stood and walked over to Will, pulling Will to him, holding Will against his chest, the way he’d done all those weeks when Will was ill. “You are sad,” Picard said, resting his head against Will’s, “and you are angry, but you are not him. You have never been him.”

            “When you said her name, I wanted to smash your face in.”

            “You know,” Picard said, “it might make us both feel better if you did.”

            “Your tea is cold.”

            “Yes.”

            “I’ve never wanted anyone but you,” Will said. “Not since you dared me to tell you what I wanted.”

            “I know.”

            “Even before then.”

            “Yes.”

            Will said, “I didn’t think you would ever come home.”

            “Deanna sent me Sascha’s story.”

            “The one about the little bird?”

            “Yes. She told me you were too proud to ask me to come home. But in Sascha’s story, you were looking for me. I knew I could come home. Come to bed, Will,” Picard said. “You’re exhausted.”

            “I don’t know that I can sleep.”

            “You can go to your safe space, and I’ll hold you.”

            “All right,” Will said.

           

 

 

            They showered separately. To Picard, this was the epitome of his estrangement from Will; that Will would not even think they would shower together, even though that was something they did, always. He toweled himself off and dressed in his pyjamas, and wandered into their bedroom, hoping to find Will already in bed; he was not. This is only the first night home, he consoled himself. It will get better. But that was something he no longer believed. He climbed into his side of the bed and sat there, waiting for Will.

            Fifteen minutes later, Will walked in quietly, lowered the lights to ten percent, and pulled the door. “I got into the habit of checking on them,” he explained, sitting on the bed. “Computer, set alarm.”

            “They’re asleep?” Picard asked.

            “Yes,” Will said, sliding under the quilt. “For now,” he added.

            “Sascha doesn’t wake, does he?” Picard looked up at Will.

            “Only if Rose tries to wake the whole ship,” Will answered.

            “She is a marvel,” Picard said.

            “Uh-uh. Let’s hear you say that after she marvels you every night for a week.”

            “Did Sascha have these problems with his teeth?” Picard asked. “I don’t seem to remember that he did.”

            “No,” Will answered. “Even as a baby, Sascha was dignified.”

            Picard was silent, and then he began to laugh. “Oh, Will.”

            “Rose is already a woman of conviction,” Will remarked, grinning, and Picard said, before he could stop himself, “Come here, you,” as he reached for Will.

            Will froze – and in that moment Picard thought he saw the response of an eight-year-old boy beginning to dissociate. He was not a man who was comfortable with weeping, but he felt his eyes fill, and he turned away, sliding back down in the bed. He’d known, when he boarded the Titan that afternoon that it wouldn’t be easy; that Will’s issues with trust would make it hard; or at least he’d thought he understood. But the reality was that he didn’t understand anything at all, and he, who had been Will’s anchor, who had been Will’s safe place; Will’s home – had destroyed all that in one single evening of deliberately thoughtless sex. And now – now Will had once again conflated him with his father. Which made a certain amount of awful sense, because the betrayal was the same, wasn’t it? He wept, silently, because Will was in pain, and he had caused it, and the utter bleakness of their new reality now framed everything they would ever do.

            “Jean-Luc.”

            He felt Will touch his shoulder. “Please, Will,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Just try to sleep.”

            “Jean-Luc.” Will moved beside him, his arm now around Picard’s chest. “I’m sorry,” he said against Picard’s ear.

            Picard took a breath. “Don’t you dare apologise to me,” he said. “You owe me nothing.”

            Will added, as if he hadn’t heard him at all, “It’s an automatic reaction. You know this, Jean-Luc. It’s a reaction to stress, not you.”

            “I betrayed you,” Picard said, his voice muffled, “just as he did. I deserved it.”

            “Yes,” Will agreed, but there was no anger in his voice. “You betrayed me. You betrayed our marriage, Jean-Luc. You say you don’t know why, and maybe you don’t – I don’t know. I think perhaps – if we were to look at this together, with Deanna, maybe – we both know why. But that doesn’t make you – him. And it doesn’t mean that I think you are.”

            “You were frightened,” Picard said. “Of me.”

            “You offered to hold me.” Will paused, waiting, and then he said, “Before.”

            “You don’t want me to,” Picard answered. “You’ve made that clear. Please, Will. Just go to sleep.”

            Will said, “Let me hold you.”

            Was it possible to die of shame and guilt? “No. I couldn’t bear it, if you did.”

            Will didn’t remove his arm from Picard’s chest. Instead, he slid his other arm underneath and then pulled Picard in. “Jean-Luc,” he said, “close your eyes. I’m giving you this, not just for you, but for both of us. For our kids, in the other room. Five minutes, okay? Five minutes I’m going to hold you, and we’re going to pretend none of this ever happened. Just five minutes, Jeannot. That’s all I’m asking. You can give me this.”

            “Guy,” Picard whispered, tasting his own tears.

            “Five minutes,” Will repeated, laying his head against Picard’s shoulder. “Close your eyes.”

            “Yes, Guy,” Picard said.

            He slept.

           

           

           

           

           

           

           

 

 

           

           

           

           

           


End file.
